Intertwined destinies
by jnicweb
Summary: "I don't want you to change. I want you…to always…be you."


"In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. His name….Merlin."

Tear stained faces that don't agree with the casual words that are spoken. The tears insist that worry was not a part of the equation, which is not what the words convey. Nights were spent without sleep, and days were spent without food, but that doesn't matter as much when they are both still alive despite all the odds stacked against them.

Respect is earned Arthur.

"It's lonely, to be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow…to be special and have to pretend you're a fool."

A hand on the back is all he needs to keep him upright. Even as he's losing too much blood, as long as that hand stays there, holding him up, he feels like he could take on the world.

"I don't want you to change. I want you…to always…be you."

Some might say the two men hated each other with all their hearts. Others would say that they tolerated each other, based on the insults and daily stock trips the King made to either put his servant in, or get him out. More still would say they respected each other, based on the way the King genuinely listened to his servant's advice. But a smaller portion would swear that they were the best of friends, and made fun of each other because it was their way of showing that they cared.

Advice given in the oddest places. Sometimes you're not the idiot I thought you were Merlin.

Water spills and cascades out of the corner of eyes, and over pronounced cheekbones and lands on pale hands that shake as they get saturated with red. Oozing out of every orifice, and staining everything it comes in contact with, the dark liquid is a reminder of the person he was supposed to protect, but couldn't. There is so much red that it's nearly impossible to see what's underneath. But he doesn't really want to know what's underneath. He can live in denial for a little longer, hoping and wishing that this never happened. But as he watches breathing slow down, and listens to heartbeats that will gradually stop, he can't contain the scream of agony that erupts from his mouth, that seems come from his very toes, because this just _wasn't fair_.

Fallen friends hurt…more than anything.

Imperfect sums up their relationship. Not that either of them are complaining. They are quite content to insult each other like there is no tomorrow, because the alternative is talking about their emotions. Poking their eyeballs out with a rusty fork sounds more pleasurable because they are _boys_ and boys don't talk about feelings and stuff. Only girls do that Merlin.

"I always thought you were the bravest man I've ever met."

Mornings are the worst. Too early to even be up, much less functioning, too late manservants, too cheery voices and too loud bustling in the room, too cold breakfast, and not enough _sleep._ But mornings were also the best. A glimpse of that too cheery face with too thin clothes and too wide a grin makes it worth it.

Jokes and jibs that mean nothing, but also mean the world.

Subtle glances that aren't so easily seen betray the façade of indifference.

Creepy shadows and the too quiet darkness should have their nerves on edge, but they draw strength from each other's presence. And suddenly the fear isn't quite as choking, and the terror abates because they know the other one will always have their back. And in a world of knights and swords and back-stabbing, power-hungry lords, that means more than they could even express.

"I want to say…something I've never said to you before…thank you."

The color of friendship was red. Red for Camelot and red for the cloaks that swish majestically behind shining chain mail and sharp swords and show the loyalty it took to earn that cloak in the deep color. Red for his favorite shirt that had been ruined, but was then mysteriously replaced by finer material than he could ever afford and he somehow knew that it was from his friend and that it was as close to an apology that he would ever get. Red for his family's crest that revealed his dignity and loyalty that would protect his people with his friend at his side. Red for the blood that flows out of wounds that are hidden because they don't need to worry about this now. Red for what he sees when his friend is pale and still and there's no getting him back and he just wants to throw something, scream and cry until his voice is hoarse, because he thought they were going to share a _destiny_ together. But with one half of the coin missing, there isn't really any point. And red for the color that leaks out of his wrist as he glides the knife along the skin until there isn't any red anymore and it's just black, but he will be with his brother, so it doesn't really matter.

"You're such a girl's petticoat."

"Prat."

Scraped knees and bloody trousers should take up more attention, but when they can stop the master and servant charade, and just be friend and friend, silly things like blood and pain are put on the back burner while they enjoy being with each other.

Wavering words and faltering speeches reveal their true emotions.

"You're threatening me with a spoon?"

The Once and Future…

Whispered reassurances from his friend are worth more than half-hearted speeches given by too boisterous lords who have definitely had too much to drink.

"A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole."

There wasn't one word that truly described what his servant was. He was many things, like a warlock, a servant, a friend, a son, and an annoying little girl sometimes. But to his king, there was only one word that would do this man justice.  
A brother.

There wasn't one word that truly described what his king was. He was many things, like a knight, a king, a friend, a son, a husband and an annoying prat most of the time. But to his servant, there was only one word that would do this man justice.  
A brother.

 **Let me know what you think!**


End file.
